Talk
by Smoaking Green Arrow
Summary: One-shot of Lydia and Stiles, after season 4. Lydia finds more answers about her grandmother and she and Stiles reconnect.


I hesitated with my hand on the door knob. It'd been a while since I'd seen Lydia, and I felt pretty guilty about it. She deserved a friend who would always be there for her, whether she screamed for them or not. I took a deep breath, and just as I was about to open the door, it swung open and I jumped back.

"Stiles! Thank god you're here." She sighed, sounding exhausted and anxious all at the same time.

"What is it, Lydia? Are you okay?"

She turned and paced back into the room with me at her heels. "I was just about to go see Scott," she turned on me quickly, "I found something."

I followed her to her desk and she picked up an old, faded, brown leather notebook. "It was my grandmother's journal."

"What does it say?" I asked, glancing eagerly between her and the book.

She smiled slightly, "Everything. She wrote in it every day since she got it when she was eighteen until the day she was admitted to Eichen House and they took it away from her."

"What'd you learn?" I asked, a little scared of what the Martin history could hold.

She sat down on her bed and caressed the worn leather, "There's so much that banshees can do. So many things I never would have known if she hadn't written it all down." She looked up at me, "Stiles, I want you to know that all I've ever wanted to do was help people."

"You have Lydia. You have."

I sat down next to her and she glanced at me, "Not always on time." She replied coldly, glancing at a framed photograph of Allison, Scott, Lydia and I. It was from a lacrosse game, so Scott and I had our uniforms on, and the girls were dressed up in support of us, signs and all.

This particular picture was hard for Lydia to look at, but for some reason she kept it right next to her bed. I think she liked to be reminded of a happier time; when she still had her best friend. But I also think that it was a reminder of her guilt. She blamed herself for Allison's death and the photo was a way for her to torture herself over it. In the picture, we all stood with our arms around each other, Scott and I on the outside, the girls in the middle with their sign held up for the camera. Allison has her face nuzzled into Lydia's neck, like she was hiding from the photographer. And Lydia's head is tilted towards me, her eyes closed and her mouth open in laughter because of Allison.

"Hey," I say gently, "It wasn't your fault."

She cleared her throat, blinking away tears that were obviously ready to fall. "My grandmother, she describes her gifts, how she learned to control them and use them to help save people. She writes it all like she's simply documenting history, but the events, the things she did…she was a hero, Stiles."

"What kind of gifts?" I asked. Lydia opened the journal and turned to a page she'd marked and began to read.

" _Today I met another banshee. She approached me at the coffee shop while I sat outside reading. She called me by my name and then introduced herself as Serena. When I asked how she knew my name, she told me that she could feel me from miles away. She said that she'd been trying to find me for weeks, and her premonitions finally guided her to Beacon Hills. I asked how that was possible, and she told me that banshees are not just connected to the universe and death, we are connected to each other. She needed the help of another banshee, and here I was. All I know is that she has a friend who is in danger, and she needs my help to save his life. 'Banshees are stronger together,' she told me. We plan to meet again at the coffee shop and she assured me that she will tell me more and answer all of my questions."_

Lydia stopped reading, smiling at me. "So what happened next?" I asked.

Lydia smiled wider, "she describes every day of her time with Serena; describes everything that this banshee taught her. They saved that boy's life, and it bonded them. They spoke every day, she was the one person that my grandmother trusted with her life."

"Where is Serena now?"

"I don't know," Lydia answered, "She only ever used that one name when she wrote about her. No last name, no details of where she came from or even what she looked like."

"What does all of this mean, Lydia?"

"It means that I can find other banshees. I can meet people who are like me, I can learn from them and get stronger. Maybe then I can be more helpful than finding bodies and screaming too late to save anyone."

"Lydia…"

"I don't want to talk about it." She held her hand up to stop me.

I took her hand in mine, and she met my eyes, "Allison was not your fault." I said slowly, keeping my eyes on hers to make sure that she was listening to me.

She cocked her head to the side, "What does it matter?" she whispered, "She's gone."

"I know. But you can't live the rest of your life blaming yourself. You can't go out looking for strangers in the hope of becoming a stronger banshee, we can help you do that. I'll help you."

She finally pulled her hand from mine, "You haven't really been around much, Stiles." She said quietly, breaking eye contact to look at her hands in her lap.

I lifted her chin with my fingers and turned her head to look at me, "I'm sorry Lydia, I know you've been doing a lot of this on your own. Trying to save our friends, trying to find the benefactor, all of your grandmother's history, but please, please believe me when I tell you that you're not alone in this, we're all fighting this together."

She hesitated, as if she was unsure if she wanted to be honest or nod and say okay. I was glad she chose honesty. "But Stiles, it feels more like you're all working together to figure it out. You, Scott, Malia, you all have each other. I have me. I go to that lake house and I just feel like…" she paused, smoothing her skirt and not looking at me.

"You feel like what?" I asked.

"I feel like Allison was my Scott. And now that she's gone, I don't feel like I fit in anymore." She sounded so innocent, so sincere and heartbroken, that I couldn't help but kneel in front of her and take her hands.

She looked down at me, "Lydia, you are so important to me. And I am so sorry that I've made you feel so alone. You meant the world to Allison, too. She'd be so proud of you. Do you remember when all of this started?" I paused, waiting to make sure I had her attention. She seemed distracted lately, and I often found myself having to pull her back from whatever thoughts were in her head.

She met my eyes and nodded, "When Peter bit Scott?"

I nodded, "You were so scared, you were medicating yourself and skipping school, you had no idea what was going on. Look at you now; you're a part of this, you always have been."

"Because of Allison." She answered.

I shook my head, "No, because of you, Lydia. You embraced what you are so whole heartedly, and you just wanted to help. I don't know what I'd do without you." I smiled at her and squeezed her hand, "Who else would be my partner in crime?" She smiled back and I reached up to brush the tears from her eyes.

"Yeah," she rolled her eyes, "You would be pretty lost without me."

I laughed, "There's my girl."

"Thank you." She said sincerely.

I nodded, "Anytime." I pulled her up from the bed, "well, since we both agree that we need more time together, why don't we go get something to eat?"

She smirked, "Take-out."

"Of course. Some things never change."

She laughed, "I feel like Thai."

Half an hour later, Lydia and I sat on her bedroom floor surrounded by take-out boxes. We took turns reading passages from her grandmother's journal and discussing them. Some of the things she wrote were unsettling, but for the most part, I was relaxed. Just seeing Lydia so excited to finally have some answers about what she is made me feel a lot more comfortable about my banshee.

When I finally felt my eyes getting heavy, Lydia was lying on the floor, her head on a pillow and the pillow in my lap. She was reading an entry about her grandfather; how Lorraine had met him. Lydia's voice was soft and romantic, like she was picturing the rainy night and broken down car in her head. Lorraine had popped a tire, and she was out in the rain trying to fix it on the side of the road. Lydia's grandfather had stopped to help and ended up leaving Lorraine his phone number.

Lydia looked up at me with a bright smile on her face, "it sounds just like the woman I knew. Out in the rain trying to change her own tire instead of calling for help; giving the man who tries to take care of her some attitude."

I laughed, "Reminds me of someone else." I expected her to hit me or something, but she just smiled.

"I should get going." I said half-heartedly, not wanting to ruin this night. It was like reconnecting with her, getting back a friendship that we'd lost through all the Benefactor drama, death, and time apart. She just nodded and stood up. I stood too, and we both walked to her doorway.

"When's your mom getting home?" I asked, glancing at the clock that read 2:00 am.

No wonder my eyelids were so heavy. "She's not." Lydia replied, "She's gone for the night."

"Oh, Lydia, I can stay…"

Her eyes flew to mine, "No, no you don't have to do that. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, "yeah, of course."

"Okay, I'll see you…later today then." I raised my hand and backed out of the door way. Just as I was turning to leave, I heard her take a deep breath, and for some reason it made me feel like she was preparing for battle. I poked my head back into her room, "But what if, hypothetically, I wanted to stay." She was pulling the pillows off her bed and arranging it to sleep in.

"Hypothetically? I'd say that you have a very lovely were-coyote girlfriend who probably wouldn't like us having a sleepover. And since she scares the daylight out of me, I'd say thank you for tonight, Stiles," her voice softened as she thanked me, "But," she continued, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"What if I said Malia and I broke up?"

Lydia's hands stopped, and she turned to look at me, holding a pillow in both hands. "Why didn't you mention it earlier? Stiles, I'm sorry."

"We had more important things to talk about it. It's okay. Lydia, I don't like you being alone tonight any more than you want to be alone, so let me stay with you."

"Are you asking because you and Malia aren't together anymore?"

"I'm asking because I care about you, okay? I'll take the floor."

I grabbed a couple pillows that she'd tossed on the floor and a blanket from her chair and tossed them on the floor. She hadn't exactly said yes to my spending the night, but she wasn't objecting. I took my sweatshirt off and slid my shoes off by the door. She watched me as I did this and as I was about to lie down she stopped me, "Wait."

I glanced at her, and she shrugged, "you don't have to sleep on the floor. If you insist on playing guard dog, the least I can do is let you sleep in the bed."

"I'm the one insisting on staying, I'm not letting you sleep on the floor." I objected.

She pulled back her covers, "I didn't say I was," she said as she climbed into her bed. I hesitated, feeling nervous as Lydia Martin offered me the other side of her bed.

The crazy thing was, if this was three years ago, I'd be an anxious mess, probably having a heart attack. But Lydia and I had come a long way since I pined for her attention and she turned her nose at me. For one thing, I had her attention, she listened to what I had to say, she knew me better than most of the people in my life. But she was still Lydia Martin, and she was beautiful.

I walked slowly to "my" side of the bed and sat down on the edge of it. She turned the lamp off and the room became dark. I waited for my eyes to adjust, and when they did, I noticed the picture again. We all looked so happy. Ever since the group of us teamed up, we'd always been fighting monsters and dealing with things that most teenagers didn't even know about. But that picture, the uniforms, the sign, the easiness in our smiles, we looked like regular high school kids. Ones who weren't worried about kanimas or alphas or benefactors or nogitsunes.

I liked it, even though I understood why Lydia used it as a reminder of her guilt, it was a reminder of a group of people who would always be connected. We'd always have Allison with us, we'd been through too much together to not feel her in everything we did. Scott and I died with her and Lydia felt the weight of the world when she realized that Allison was really gone for good. "What are you thinking about?" I heard Lydia's small voice as she leaned over to see the picture I'd been staring at.

"Just missing her, I guess." I said quietly.

Lydia's face softened and she touched my arm, "she's the kind you miss, huh?"

I nodded, "You are too, you know. I missed you a lot these past few months."

"I missed you too." She said, her hand still on my arm. I looked down at it, lifting my hand to hers. I laid back onto the pillow and took a deep breath. Lydia released my hand and I looked over at her, she was on her side, facing me with her hands tucked under her face and her hair spread across her pillow behind her. "Stiles," she looked up to meet my eyes, "Do you think there was something I could've done? You're always thinking, and I know you've thought about it, so honestly, is there anything I could've done differently…" her voice cracked, "that might've saved her?"

Her vulnerability and pain were so beautiful and heartbreaking that I couldn't help but to run my fingers over her cheek. "No." I answered solely. I knew that this simple answer would help her more than any rambling explanation. She met my eyes again, trying to see if I was telling the truth. I had nothing to hide, I meant it.

The only lighting was from the moon outside, and Lydia's eyes shone greener and her skin appeared paler. Instead of moving my hand away, I gently ran my fingers over her porcelain skin. She closed her eyes as my thumb touched her lower lip. I'd done it so lightly I wasn't sure she'd even feel it, but her mouth opened and suddenly Lydia Martin didn't seem like an unattainable girl that I'd loved since fourth grade. She didn't seem like one of my best friends or my partner in crime either. This Lydia was like nothing I'd ever felt for her. Probably mostly because she seemed effected by me too, but the moment hung over us like the full moon, and I slid down the pillow so that my face was level with hers.

I took my hand from her face and she calmly opened her eyes to meet mine, a look of tranquility on her face that I hadn't seen since before Allison died. "Stiles…" she whispered, not like she had anything to say, but like there was something she needed to do.

She slowly moved closer to me, so slowly that it felt like it took her an eternity to reach me. I held my breath when her nose finally touched mine. I opened my eyes and she opened hers, and as I looked at her, I knew exactly what she was thinking. This felt right. I closed my eyes and gently leaned in to kiss her. My lips touched hers, and she was still for a moment.

When I pulled away, I felt her hand slide up my arm, over my neck and into my hair. She ran her fingers through it and then let it rest on my face as she leaned in to kiss me again.


End file.
